கட்டுரையை படித்த திமுக தலைவர் கருணாநிதி, உடனடியாக வாஸந்தியை அழைத்து, தேவதாசியாகவே வாழ்ந்த ஒருவர் எழுதியது போல சிறப்பாக இருக்கிறது என்று கூறினார்.
துடித்துப் போனார் வாஸந்தி. தனக்கு தெரிந்த திமுக தலைவர்களையெல்லாம் அழைத்து, கலைஞர் இப்படி பேசி விட்டார் என்று புகார் கூறினார். மூத்த தலைவர்கள் வாஸந்தியின் வருத்தத்தை கருணாநிதியிடம் தெரிவிக்கவும் அவர், பின்ன என்னய்யா... தேவதாசி முறை வேணுமாம். ஆனா வேற ஒரு குடும்பத்து பெண்கள் தேவதாசியா இருக்கணுமாம். இவுங்க இருக்க மாட்டாங்களாம் என்று கண்டு கொள்ளவேயில்லை.
கருணாநிதியின் விமர்சனத்தால் கடுமையாக பாதிக்கப்பட்ட வாஸந்தி, சில
நாட்களிலேயே, தேவதாசி முறையின் கொடுமைகள் குறித்து ஒரு சிறுகதை எழுதினார்.
உடனடியாக கருணாநிதி அவரை அழைத்துப் பாராட்டினார்.
பின்னர், தேவதாசி முறையின் கொடுமைகள் குறித்து, விட்டு விடுதலையாகி என்று ஒரு புதினத்தையே படைத்தார் வாஸந்தி.
தொடர்புடைய இணைப்பு
.<"> Vaasanthi. Photo: B. Jothi Ramalingam .thehindu.com/topic/The_Hindu_Friday_Review/">
Vaasanthi’s writing has constantly peeled the layers.
பின்னர், தேவதாசி முறையின் கொடுமைகள் குறித்து, விட்டு விடுதலையாகி என்று ஒரு புதினத்தையே படைத்தார் வாஸந்தி.
தொடர்புடைய இணைப்பு
.<"> Vaasanthi. Photo: B. Jothi Ramalingam .thehindu.com/topic/The_Hindu_Friday_Review/">
Beneath all the embellishments and hyperbole of our Itihasas, lies
life captured in the raw - passion, betrayal, exploitation - all those
things that still drive us. And therein lies their appeal. Vaasanthi’s
‘Poyyil Pootha Nijam,’ is inspired by the story of Shakuntala and
Dushyanth. Vaasanthi’s heroine, also named Shakuntala, chooses to live
with the man of her choice. And is not that what the iconic Shakuntala
did, choosing a Gandharva marriage with no witnesses to it? But there
ends the similarity. When sage Kanva came to know of his daughter’s
secret marriage, he blessed her! But tradition bound Kamakshi in
Vaasanthi’s story cannot countenance her son’s live-in arrangement with
the woman he loves. Aren’t we hypocritical, when we cry for the mythical
Shakuntala, but frown upon a real life one?
That is just one of the many questions that ‘Poyyil Pootha Nijam’ poses. Constantly bickering Kamakshi and Saravanan remain married for the sake of propriety. Is this marriage better than the peaceful, loving relationship that Shakuntala and Raja have, although they are not legally married?
Ammani is one of Vaasanthi’s most adorable heroines. Shyamala leaves behind her husband Gurumurthy and three children to live with the man she loves. A sense of shame and betrayal engulfs Gurumurthy. Ammani comes in to cook for the family and becomes a general factotum of sorts. She is a mother to the children and passionately returns the embraces of Gurumurthy, when he seeks an outlet for his pent up sexual frustrations. But, when the children grow up and leave, Gurumurthy begins to think of remarriage, and the woman who has now caught his fancy is a voluptuous beauty, much younger than the portly, plain Ammani. Ammani leaves, but not before giving Gurumurthy some home truths. She asks him why he had always ranted against his wife’s lack of maternal instincts, but had conveniently ignored Ammani’s own. If he had thought about Ammani’s maternal instincts, would he have made her undergo three abortions? So people wax eloquent about morality and maternal instincts only when it suits them.
Was Ammani based on a real life person, I ask Vasanthi. “Not entirely. When I was in Delhi, I used to see a lady who had entered a household as a cook and had ended up marrying her employer. I noticed a look of yearning on her face, as if there was something lacking in her life. I was angry with her for marrying that man.”
Did Vaasanthi plan to end her story that way, with Ammani leaving Gurumurthy? “You can’t really plan an entire story. The story just evolves, and the characters lead you by the hand to the end.”
Most of Vaasanthi’s stories have feminist themes, and she says the seeds of feminism were sown in her mind by her maternal grandmother, a great story teller. “When grandmother told the story of Sita asking the Earth to swallow her up, all the children would be in tears. I didn’t realise then that grandmother’s dramatic narration was in fact a feminist outpouring.”
Nagu Paatti is another of Vaasanthi’s unforgettable characters. Ninety eight year old Nagu paatti awaits death, which proves elusive. Her children are dead, and many of her grandchildren are dead too.
Her daughter-in-law abuses her for being alive, and the servant says Yama must have forgotten to put Nagu’s name in his list. Whenever someone in the family dies, Nagu Paatti is torn between sorrow over the death and fear of her daughter-in-law’s tongue-lashing. Finally, she decides that if death will not seek her, she must seek it. The food that she is grudgingly given by her daughter-in-law becomes the means to her end. She stuffs her mouth with hot rice and chokes to death. The story brings out the untold cruelties the elderly and disabled experience in the much celebrated joint family system. Yes, joint families do give people a roof over their heads and put food on their plates. But is that all there is to life? It’s on the undercurrent of viciousness in many of our traditional institutions that Vaasanthi turns the spotlight in her stories. “All my stories are cries for justice,” says left leaning, non-conformist Vaasanthi.
She grew up in Bangalore, and after marriage lived in many places, including Delhi, the North-Eastern States and Nepal. She used to send her stories to various magazines from wherever she lived. “I never met any of the editors. In fact, it was only when I became the editor of India Today’s Tamil edition that I moved to Chennai and have lived here for nine years.”
Vaasanthi’s column in India Today had caustic references to political leaders, cinema stars, a Hindu religious head and even cricketers. “I spared none,” she says. Was she always interested in politics? “My grandfather used to discuss politics with us. And so I grew up imbibing an interest in political analysis.”
She was in New Delhi when Indira Gandhi was assassinated. “I took groceries for a Sikh friend, who said, ‘I knew nothing about politics, but today, politics has entered my house.’” Vaasanthi did a cover story for Kalki on the violence unleashed against the Sikhs.
Vaasanthi’s ‘Mouna Puyal’ was about the Punjab problem. When she was editor of India Today, she called up Dr. Abdul Kalam for a quote, and when she introduced herself, he said that he’d read ‘Mouna Puyal,’ and began to quote from the book! “The last time I saw Dr. Kalam was in 2004. He had fractured his hand and there was a look of sadness on his face. He said, ‘There is no nobility in politics anymore.’ I remember writing in my column that he looked like a wounded Jatayu,” says Vaasanthi.
Vaasanthi visited Sri Lanka four times and was always against the LTTE. “That is because I abhor violence. Few openly criticised LTTE, Cho, N. Ram and myself among them,” says Vaasanthi. Her ‘Nirkka Nizhal Vendum’ on the Sri Lankan situation was serialised in Kalki for 32 weeks, and drew a lot of criticism. “But those who criticised me had misunderstood me. I was never against Tamils. I was against terrorism.”
As a writer, Vaasanthi has braved not just criticism, but threats too, but she refuses to be cowed down.
On a forgotten community
Vaasanthi’s ‘Vittu Vidudhalaiyagi,’ was taken up for review at the monthly meeting of Tamizh Puthaga Nanbargal. The novel is about temple dancers, and the emphasis is on liberation of women and reveals the extensive research that the author had done for the work.
Dancer Sasirekha Balasubramaniam, reviewer, took to singing and dancing. The lec-dem approach was received with mixed feelings.
Vaasanthi spoke about how the book came about. A chance mention by IAS officer M.S. Guhan, about the appalling treatment meted out to temple dancers, sparked off her interest in the community. She travelled to Thanjavur and met many of them.
Sathiakudi Meenakshisundaram Ammal was 84, but sang for Vaasanthi, and there was not a single slip from the sruti. Thiruvidaimarudur Jayalakshmi was toothless and could hardly stand up. But when Vaasanthi said she had heard that Jayalakshmi’s abhinaya for Kutrala Kuvanji was unmatched, Jayalakshmi jumped up and danced ‘Valli Kanavan Perai!’ The tragedy was that their art was lost, when the Devadasi Abolition Act came into force, and this was what Vaasanthi wrote about in her essay in India Today. But it was misinterpreted and critics began to say that she was against the Act. When she went to visit Meenakshisundaram Ammal after the essay was published, the reception was lukewarm. “My grandson has been crying, for now everyone knows about our past,” she said. Vaasanthi decided to make amends. She wrote a short story about the community and Mr. M. Karunanidhi who had criticised the earlier essay, called to compliment her. Vaasanthi was left with a lot of information about temple dancers from her many years of research. So she decided to write a novel. Thus was born ‘Vittu Vidudhalaiyagi.’
That is just one of the many questions that ‘Poyyil Pootha Nijam’ poses. Constantly bickering Kamakshi and Saravanan remain married for the sake of propriety. Is this marriage better than the peaceful, loving relationship that Shakuntala and Raja have, although they are not legally married?
Ammani is one of Vaasanthi’s most adorable heroines. Shyamala leaves behind her husband Gurumurthy and three children to live with the man she loves. A sense of shame and betrayal engulfs Gurumurthy. Ammani comes in to cook for the family and becomes a general factotum of sorts. She is a mother to the children and passionately returns the embraces of Gurumurthy, when he seeks an outlet for his pent up sexual frustrations. But, when the children grow up and leave, Gurumurthy begins to think of remarriage, and the woman who has now caught his fancy is a voluptuous beauty, much younger than the portly, plain Ammani. Ammani leaves, but not before giving Gurumurthy some home truths. She asks him why he had always ranted against his wife’s lack of maternal instincts, but had conveniently ignored Ammani’s own. If he had thought about Ammani’s maternal instincts, would he have made her undergo three abortions? So people wax eloquent about morality and maternal instincts only when it suits them.
Was Ammani based on a real life person, I ask Vasanthi. “Not entirely. When I was in Delhi, I used to see a lady who had entered a household as a cook and had ended up marrying her employer. I noticed a look of yearning on her face, as if there was something lacking in her life. I was angry with her for marrying that man.”
Did Vaasanthi plan to end her story that way, with Ammani leaving Gurumurthy? “You can’t really plan an entire story. The story just evolves, and the characters lead you by the hand to the end.”
Most of Vaasanthi’s stories have feminist themes, and she says the seeds of feminism were sown in her mind by her maternal grandmother, a great story teller. “When grandmother told the story of Sita asking the Earth to swallow her up, all the children would be in tears. I didn’t realise then that grandmother’s dramatic narration was in fact a feminist outpouring.”
Nagu Paatti is another of Vaasanthi’s unforgettable characters. Ninety eight year old Nagu paatti awaits death, which proves elusive. Her children are dead, and many of her grandchildren are dead too.
Her daughter-in-law abuses her for being alive, and the servant says Yama must have forgotten to put Nagu’s name in his list. Whenever someone in the family dies, Nagu Paatti is torn between sorrow over the death and fear of her daughter-in-law’s tongue-lashing. Finally, she decides that if death will not seek her, she must seek it. The food that she is grudgingly given by her daughter-in-law becomes the means to her end. She stuffs her mouth with hot rice and chokes to death. The story brings out the untold cruelties the elderly and disabled experience in the much celebrated joint family system. Yes, joint families do give people a roof over their heads and put food on their plates. But is that all there is to life? It’s on the undercurrent of viciousness in many of our traditional institutions that Vaasanthi turns the spotlight in her stories. “All my stories are cries for justice,” says left leaning, non-conformist Vaasanthi.
She grew up in Bangalore, and after marriage lived in many places, including Delhi, the North-Eastern States and Nepal. She used to send her stories to various magazines from wherever she lived. “I never met any of the editors. In fact, it was only when I became the editor of India Today’s Tamil edition that I moved to Chennai and have lived here for nine years.”
Vaasanthi’s column in India Today had caustic references to political leaders, cinema stars, a Hindu religious head and even cricketers. “I spared none,” she says. Was she always interested in politics? “My grandfather used to discuss politics with us. And so I grew up imbibing an interest in political analysis.”
She was in New Delhi when Indira Gandhi was assassinated. “I took groceries for a Sikh friend, who said, ‘I knew nothing about politics, but today, politics has entered my house.’” Vaasanthi did a cover story for Kalki on the violence unleashed against the Sikhs.
Vaasanthi’s ‘Mouna Puyal’ was about the Punjab problem. When she was editor of India Today, she called up Dr. Abdul Kalam for a quote, and when she introduced herself, he said that he’d read ‘Mouna Puyal,’ and began to quote from the book! “The last time I saw Dr. Kalam was in 2004. He had fractured his hand and there was a look of sadness on his face. He said, ‘There is no nobility in politics anymore.’ I remember writing in my column that he looked like a wounded Jatayu,” says Vaasanthi.
Vaasanthi visited Sri Lanka four times and was always against the LTTE. “That is because I abhor violence. Few openly criticised LTTE, Cho, N. Ram and myself among them,” says Vaasanthi. Her ‘Nirkka Nizhal Vendum’ on the Sri Lankan situation was serialised in Kalki for 32 weeks, and drew a lot of criticism. “But those who criticised me had misunderstood me. I was never against Tamils. I was against terrorism.”
As a writer, Vaasanthi has braved not just criticism, but threats too, but she refuses to be cowed down.
On a forgotten community
Vaasanthi’s ‘Vittu Vidudhalaiyagi,’ was taken up for review at the monthly meeting of Tamizh Puthaga Nanbargal. The novel is about temple dancers, and the emphasis is on liberation of women and reveals the extensive research that the author had done for the work.
Dancer Sasirekha Balasubramaniam, reviewer, took to singing and dancing. The lec-dem approach was received with mixed feelings.
Vaasanthi spoke about how the book came about. A chance mention by IAS officer M.S. Guhan, about the appalling treatment meted out to temple dancers, sparked off her interest in the community. She travelled to Thanjavur and met many of them.
Sathiakudi Meenakshisundaram Ammal was 84, but sang for Vaasanthi, and there was not a single slip from the sruti. Thiruvidaimarudur Jayalakshmi was toothless and could hardly stand up. But when Vaasanthi said she had heard that Jayalakshmi’s abhinaya for Kutrala Kuvanji was unmatched, Jayalakshmi jumped up and danced ‘Valli Kanavan Perai!’ The tragedy was that their art was lost, when the Devadasi Abolition Act came into force, and this was what Vaasanthi wrote about in her essay in India Today. But it was misinterpreted and critics began to say that she was against the Act. When she went to visit Meenakshisundaram Ammal after the essay was published, the reception was lukewarm. “My grandson has been crying, for now everyone knows about our past,” she said. Vaasanthi decided to make amends. She wrote a short story about the community and Mr. M. Karunanidhi who had criticised the earlier essay, called to compliment her. Vaasanthi was left with a lot of information about temple dancers from her many years of research. So she decided to write a novel. Thus was born ‘Vittu Vidudhalaiyagi.’
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